Criminology and the Art of Mysterious Illusion
by AnthroQueen
Summary: It's Halloween and as usual, things are amok at Greendale. Someone has murdered Dean Pelton! ... But who?


**Happy Halloween, guys! I've been waiting to post this until now for obvious reasons. I planned this out and wrote it weeks ago because it is my absolute dream for Community to do a murder mystery episode. Therefore, this story was born. I hope it doesn't suck too much. It may not have turned out the way I wanted it to, but maybe you'll still enjoy it? Let me know! Have a safe and happy Halloween!  
**

* * *

Criminology and the Art of Mysterious Illusion

_The party's in full swing- "Monster Mash" is blasting through the cafeteria's cheap and fuzzy speakers, students in costumes of all ranges are breaking it down on the dance floor and no one's tripping on acid or getting a rabies-related pathogen from classified phoenix, so it's a few steps up from the parties of yesteryear. Following the previous year's disastrous pre-party in which they'd discovered all but one of them were insane, the study group decides to forgo it this year and attend only Dean Pelton's ever-famous Halloween party- and what a party it is._

_There's a table in the corner where their coats and personal belongings are resting, but it's the only thing that suggests this is really a cafeteria-held school party and not an upscale soirée in someone's mansion. The shorted cafeteria lights had been swapped out for overhead chandeliers, the tables and chairs that looked as though they'd hailed from the Salvation Army were packed away and replaced by silk-clothed tables and high-backed dining chairs, and the radioactive cafeteria food no longer existed; instead, the Dean had called in the fanciest of caterers just for the occasion and instead of dining on chips and salsa or macaroni and cheese, the students of Greendale were being served pate, caviar, and a full, three-course sit down meal. Talk about stepping it up._

_Dean Pelton takes a moment to check on the food supply- the rest of the stock is waiting patiently in his office- before straightening the bow tie around his neck, the one completing his tuxedo, and heading off into the crowd. He greets Troy and Abed cordially, compliments Shirley's fancy cocktail dress, and shares in a toast with Jeff, Britta, and Annie, before adjusting the lighting above and changing the song to something a bit more eloquent. Some Mozart, perhaps, to lighten the mood? Just because it's Halloween doesn't mean things have to be dark and creepy. They can still have a good time dining on good food in the company of good people._

_Pierce approaches him then, wine glass empty, and says, "We're running low on chardonnay, boss."_

"_Oh, no problem!" Dean Pelton grins, patting Pierce's shoulder complacently. "I have plenty in my office! I'll grab some right away!"_

_The moment he steps out of the cafeteria, all the lights go out. The music stops, the lighthearted conversation halts, and the entire cafeteria is bathed in silence and darkness. Jeff and Britta share a look, Annie reaches beside her to grab hold of Shirley's hand, and Troy, frightened, turns to Abed, who says, "Plot twist." There's an eerie sense of terror in the air, made worse only seconds later by Dean Pelton's rushed and hurried voice. "No, please," he shouts in fear, pleading with whomever's out there with him to leave him be. "Please don't! No! Don't do this! No!"_

_A horrifying, drawn out scream pierces the night air. There's a loud thud and the sound of hurried, running footsteps as all the occupants of the cafeteria try to figure out what's just happened. Just as they're about to plan an escape, the lights flicker on again and the music starts up exactly where it left off, as if nothing had happened. The partygoers glance around the room, silently daring someone to check upon what's just happened, before Shirley, always a lover of a good CSI story, walks slowly yet anxiously toward the cafeteria door. The others follow her out into the hallway._

_A few feet away from the door, Dean Pelton is slumped in a heap on the floor. His body is curled at an awkward angle and Shirley has to carefully roll him over to get a good look at his face. When she does so, his eyes are wide-open, his mouth forming an O, the exclamation of shock still evident on his face. There's a few gasps of horror and shrieks of fright as the growing crowd notices two faint holes in Dean Pelton's chest, the floor around them growing sticky and red with his blood. Shirley leans down over his heart before gasping and turning back to her friends._

"_Oh my Lord!" She yells. "He's dead!"_

* * *

_Twelve Hours Earlier_

"As you know," Dean Pelton begins, Jeff already rolling his eyes. "Greendale's Halloween parties haven't always been a raging success."

"Yeah, that Mexican one was super lame," Troy comments. "And, you know, there was that one time you tried to kill all of us."

"I'll admit it; we've had a few… _unfortunate_ circumstances that have arisen in the past," Dean Pelton frowns. "And to think I was going to buy that taco meat for my parents when they visited…"

"Dean," Jeff deadpans, his open History textbook forgotten, now, in anticipation of the seemingly irrelevant news. "Get to the point. We're busy."

"Oh, I apologize," He state, resting his hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Anyway, this Halloween is going to be different! With this year being your final year with us here at Greendale, I've decided to throw an extra special Halloween party. From now on, you can refer to me as Mr. Ross Oleander and you are all invited… to solve my murder!"

He passes out ornate embossed invitations to each of the study group members just as Britta says, "A murder mystery party? What are we, thirteen?"

"Shouldn't you be getting the police involved in this?" Pierce asks as he notes the crime scene tape on the envelope. "I'm not getting roped into another murder investigation."

Dean Pelton laughs. "I'm not _really_ going to die, Pierce. I'm going to pretend to die. And based on the clues left around the school and the motives your characters will have, you all have to find out who killed me!"

"Now this is a mystery film I'd watch," Abed comments. "Can I be the narrator, Alfred Hitchcock-style?"

"What? No!" Dean Pelton negates. "You have to play. You _all_ have to play. It's a game! It'll be fun!"

"Asterisk," Jeff frowns, but the rest of the group seems to be warming up to the idea.

"Oh I've always wanted to solve a crime!" Shirley claps excitedly. "All my _Forensic Files_ knowledge will finally come in handy!"

"I haven't done a murder mystery since middle school," Annie grins. "Sounds like fun! I'm in!"

Dean Pelton doesn't wait for the rest of the group to agree, just assumes and yanks out a drawstring bag from his pocket. "Great! I'll read you the storyline and then you'll choose your characters!"

"Why couldn't I have gone to a state school?" Jeff mutters. Britta hears and nods her agreement.

"_Good evening_," Dean Pelton begins, all Hitchcock-like to Abed's satisfaction. "_My name is Ross Oleander. I own a very successful film company called Oleanwell Productions. I'm inviting you all to my mansion this evening for my annual Halloween party. Be aware, some surprises are ahead. Won't you be in attendance?_"

"If I have to," Britta crosses her arms over her chest just as Dean Pelton chooses another drawstring bag from his pocket.

"One's for the male characters, the other for the women," He explains, handing one bag to Jeff and the other to Annie. "Choose away!"

Annie excitedly reaches her hand in and produces a slip of computer paper. "Are we allowed to read it to everyone?"

"Yes!" Dean Pelton grins gleefully. "Everything but what's in parenthesis. That's just for you to know. But go ahead and introduce yourself to the group!"

"Okay!" Annie exclaims. "Hi everyone! I'll be playing Olivia Costello, Ross's stepdaughter. Ooh…"

They all look at Jeff expectantly and he sighs, passing the bag to Abed. "Nicholas Caldwell. I'm the co-owner of Ross's film company."

Abed's nearly shaking with excitement as he grabs a slip for himself. "Leo Pierre. I'm Ross's ethnic butler. Hmm. I can make that work."

"Gimme! My turn!" Troy shouts anxiously and once he has an identity, says, "I am Maxwell Oleander- you all can call me Max. I'm Ross's son."

Shirley's next, reading, "Hello everyone! My name is Margaret Oleander and I'm Ross's estranged ex-wife!"

Pierce frowns. "I'll be playing Patrick Islington, Ross's cameraman that he mistreats. Oh there's a shocker."

"Pierce, you're not supposed to read the description," Britta states, reading her slip, her eyes widening. "Vanessa Abbott, Ross's gold digging, mistress-like girlfriend?! That's disgusting!"

"So much for not reading the description," Jeff teases and Britta glares at him.

"Oh, _you'll_ be playing my Vanessa?" Dean Pelton asks in disappointment, shooting a side-glance at Jeff as if he wanted Jeff to be his better half. Jeff looks horrified. "Anyway, now that you've all gotten your personas, get into character and I'll see you tonight at the party! Okay!"

He pats Jeff's shoulder and exits the study room, the group left to buzz about the mysterious party being held that night. Annie squeals, "I'm so excited! I have to work on my costume…"

Abed's studying his character card, likely coming up with an unnecessary back story. "It's just like _Clue_ only with real people and real things at stake. Cool."

"This must've been what the Dean meant when he said he'd always wanted to play charades with me," Jeff realizes, cringing. "I have to get out of this while I still can."

"There's no getting out now," Shirley tells him. "You've got a character to play. What if you're the murderer?"

"What if I'm not?" Jeff asks. "I can't believe all of you are going along with this so willingly!"

"I don't know, I think it'll be kind of fun," Britta disagrees. "If we can all overlook the _inexcusable_ way he exploited gender stereotypes-"

The group groans and Troy pleads, "If this is going to turn into an excuse for you to suck the fun out of everything, maybe you shouldn't play."

"Oh no, I'm going to play," Britta insists. "I'm going to play and I'm going to win. Just wait. And then you will all stop referring to me as a buzz kill because I am going to beat you. All of you."

"Not if we beat you first," Jeff replies.

Britta whirls around to face him. "Oh bring it on! I'm a _Clue_ mastermind. You think you can beat me? I'd like to see you _try_."

"Game, set," Abed grins as Jeff and Britta continue to argue over whose snooping skills are superior. "Match."

* * *

The Dean's body is still crumpled on the floor of the hallway outside the cafeteria. Annie has dissolved into a fit of tears, mourning the loss of her stepfather as everyone around her stands, tight-lipped and straight-faced, unsure of what to do next. Shirley makes the sign of the cross over her chest and moves away from the body, standing and wrapping an arm around Annie's shoulder in comfort. Abed kneels before the Dean and swipes a finger through the growing pool of blood below him, bringing that same finger into his mouth as Jeff grimaces at the sight.

"Abed, that was on the _floor_," He scolds. "You know what kind of bacteria you just put in your mouth?"

"Corn syrup, sugar, and red food coloring," Abed states knowingly, ignoring Jeff's previous comments. He then carefully slides Dean Pelton's jacket off his chest and examines the two wounds. "Blanks. Fired from a prop gun. Whoever did this had extensive access to the theater department."

"Everyone has access to the theater department," Britta smirks. "It's not exactly Alcatraz."

But Abed is not amused by her tone. The group retreats to the cafeteria once more, which has been thoroughly destroyed in the chaos of discovering the murder. Abed is quick to bring everyone's attention back to himself, his Rod Serling impression impeccable. "Ross Oleander was a good man. He invited us all here tonight for a Halloween party and this is how we thanked him. Someone killed him; someone _killed_ Ross Oleander. Someone is the culprit. Someone here is a _murderer_… But who?"

Annie's still crying. Britta rolls her eyes as Abed scans the party. He comes up to Pierce, saying, "That's a nice suit, Mr. Islington."

"Please, call me Patrick," Pierce shakes Abed's hand and straightens his own bow tie. "I always try to look my best."

"Ah, try you might. What was it Ross said about your suit this evening?" Abed's playing devil's advocate, now, and he responds, "Oh, he said you were trying too hard, isn't that right?"

Pierce frowns. "Yes, that's right."

"It must be hard," Abed continues. "You've worked for him for seven years, am I correct? You've done all his grungy work and he yet he still treats you like a doormat. He still doesn't even know your _name_."

"You bastard!" Pierce angrily exclaims but Abed's moved on to Jeff.

"Mr. Caldwell, I understand you're Ross's coworker," Abed says. "Well, co-owner, is that true?"

"Yes," Jeff responds. "We started Oleanwell Productions the moment we left college."

"And everything's run smoothly? No mishaps, no hiccups? Nothing standing in your way?" Abed asks and when Jeff agrees, he smiles devilishly. "Really? So you _don't_ think you'd be better off without him? You don't think you could run the company more successfully on your own?"

"Well…" Jeff hesitates. "I did _say_ that, but it was taken completely out of context-"

"Ah, and context _is_ everything, these days," Abed winks and Jeff is immediately outraged. He turns next to Annie, who's still sobbing beside her pseudo-mother Shirley. "Poor, sweet Olivia. I'm sure your step-father's passing is hard to accept."

"H-He's always b-been like a f-father to me!" Annie replies and Shirley nods her agreement. "Much more t-than my real father _ever_ was!"

"Really? Because that's not quite how I heard the story," Abed says and Annie's eyes widen. "I heard you and Ross _never_ got along. You were overshadowed by his son Max and you didn't like being second-best all the time, did you? And Ross didn't let you have free reign like you were used to, am I right? I bet that pissed you right off, didn't it?"

Annie's sobs grow louder and Shirley angrily shouts, "Leave her be! She's going through a trauma!"

"And I can see that you're not, Margaret," Abed notices. "But that's because when Ross left you for a much younger model, all you could hope for is his death so you could reap the benefits of his last will and testament. There's no use hiding it, Ms. Oleander."

Shirley gasps, but before she can retort, Abed's turned to Troy. "Max, my good friend. I'm sure this must be a difficult time for you. I know you and your father have always been close."

"He was like my best friend," Troy sighs solemnly. "We did everything together."

"At least, that _was_ the case, right?" Abed states, his eyes sliding towards Britta. "Until your father divorced your mother and began dating… your ex-girlfriend?"

Troy, about to shout his disapproval, is interrupted by Abed's questioning of Britta. "Miss Abbott, you're looking lovely this evening. You don't seem too broken up about your beau's untimely demise."

"Yeah well," Britta replies. "I guess it's not too much of a shock, right? Bad stuff happens on Halloween all the time."

"At which point you'd be able to receive the payment you are surely receiving from his death?" Abed points out and then addresses the room. "We _all_ have a motive; there is not one of us who attended this party with good intentions. But only one of us acted on them."

"And what's your motive?" Pierce wonders aloud, the others nodding their agreement.

Abed breaks character a moment to point out, "Oh, I'm the butler. Butlers are always creepy and mysterious; always a suspect."

He then turns again towards Troy and asks, "Max, do you know where we might find your father's will?"

"He never did tell me where he kept it, but I'm sure his lawyer would know," Troy answers. "The number's in his wallet."

Abed nods and the other six follow him into the hallway, where the Dean's body still rests. He reaches into Dean Pelton's jacket… but the wallet is missing. "Are you sure your father brought the wallet to the party?"

"He _always_ has his wallet on him," Troy says. "He doesn't go anywhere without it!"

"Oh my goodness," Shirley gasps. "Someone robbed a dead man!"

"Alright, let's split up and look for it," Jeff suggests. "It's got to be around here somewhere."

The group sifts through forgotten meals, looks beneath flowing tablecloths, and juggles balloons with streamers. The table upon which jackets and purses had been carefully strewn now lies in pieces on the floor. Pierce, after a beat, produces the missing wallet from beneath a silver pea coat and shouts, "Found it! Whose coat is this?"

They all glance accusatorily at one another until Britta sighs and says, "It's mine."

"I knew it!" Annie immediately screams. "Just couldn't wait to get your greedy hands on my father's money, huh? So you decided to kill him!"

"_Step_-father," Troy corrects, shooting Annie a glare. "But Olivia's right. I knew it was you from the start."

"I took his wallet, sure, but I didn't kill him," Britta insists and when the others' skepticism is apparent, Britta scoffs. "I didn't! I swear to you. And I'm going to prove it. The fact that I had the wallet isn't enough evidence to prove my guilt!"

"Then we'll find more!" Pierce shouts and the others agree.

"Looks like we already have," Abed calls from the pile of coats, where he's kneeling and examining something very closely. He holds it up for the group to see. "A roll of blanks. It's unclear which coat this fell out of, but…"

Their eyes fall upon Britta. She frowns. "I've never seen those before tonight! Someone's framing me!"

"Tell it to the judge," Shirley tells her, but surprisingly, Troy comes to her aid.

"Wait, we still can't prove those were hers," He sighs. "We have to look for more evidence."

"Maybe we can dust them for prints," Abed suggests and the two nod curtly and take off down the hallway.

"I'm going to stay here," Pierce affirms, heading back towards the kitchen. "Search for more clues. Dean Pel- I mean, Ross was heading back here. Maybe there's something we're not seeing…"

Annie turns to Shirley and says, "We made a good team before, right? What do you say? Can Olivia and Margaret solve this thing?"

Shirley nods and replies, "Honey, with the two of us on the case, it's already solved."

This leaves Jeff and Britta, the latter still offended the group could think she's the murderer. Jeff smirks and asks, "So, you killed a guy, huh?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Britta says saccharinely and Jeff rolls his eyes.

"Britta, drop the act," He insists. "If you killed the guy, I've already solved the case."

"First of all, it's _Vanessa_," Britta corrects. "And secondly, I told you, I've killed no one."

Jeff steps closer to her, looking her straight in the eye. "You know I'm going to do everything I can to prove you did it, right?"

"Well," She grins at him. "I guess I'll have to do everything I can to prove I didn't."

With that, she begins to walk out of the cafeteria, turning over her shoulder to shoot him a challenging glance. "Well come on, we've got a murder to solve."

Jeff stares after her, mouth agape in confusion, before shaking it off and following her down the hallway. Is this how she planned to win? By being all seductive to confuse him?

Because if so… It's working.

They head to the library and pass Abed and Troy, who had just departed Borchert Hall and had an armful of what looked like useless clues. Jeff enters the study room first, scanning it to make sure no one had been there and walking carefully as though he were entering a real crime scene. Nothing looks out of place; the chairs are pushed neatly into the table, the books are stacked alphabetically on counter, and not a poster is out of alignment. He's about to turn around, to call it useless when something catches his eye. There's something dark and sticky on the edge of the study table. Jeff walks closer and realizes it's ink.

"Oh," He frowns to Britta, who's also searching the room for evidence. "And here I thought it was something important."

"It might be," Britta tells him, finding the broken pen beneath Jeff's usual chair and presenting it to him. "Break your pen? What; you couldn't bother to put it in the trash can?"

"That is not my pen," He insists and she smirks. "I'm serious! Don't turn this around on me. You murdered the guy!"

"I didn't," Britta's adamant and goes to throw the pen away, but as she does, it hits a crumpled piece of loose leaf. It should be ordinary, but something is telling Britta otherwise. She reaches for the paper as Jeff pulls a face of disgust.

"You are rifling through the trash," Jeff says. "Look at where your life has gone. This isn't even a real murder!"

"No, but we have some real evidence," Britta replies, her eyes widening as she reads the note. "Look at this!"

"'_You'll never overlook me again you ignorant bastard!_'" Jeff reads. "You couldn't even address the poor guy by name?"

"I didn't write this letter," Britta shakes her head. "But whoever did is our murderer. They got so pissed, they broke the pen. It makes sense."

"Yeah, but who's been 'overlooked' and 'ignored'?" Jeff asks. "Patrick, maybe? Ross apparently didn't even know his name. Pierce could definitely be the murderer."

"Or maybe it's Olivia," Britta wonders. "She supposedly grew up in a world where she was always second best to her half-brother Max. That's definitely being overlooked and ignored. Annie, maybe?"

"Or Leo," Jeff says absently. "Butlers can often be overlooked or underappreciated… But would Abed kill a guy?"

"We definitely need more evidence," Britta concludes, exiting the study room but pocketing both the broken pen and the crumpled, handwritten note. "We need to find that will."

"Of course you do, Vanessa," Jeff rolls his eyes. "You just can't wait to get to the bank, can you?"

"Oh, like _you're_ not glad he's dead," Britta drones. "Now you can run the company all by yourself. In fact, _you_ could be the one who's being overlooked. Ross _does_ own a few shares more than you. He does all the press and interviews. He even handles the capital and… What is it that you do?"

Jeff frowns. "Or _you_ could be the overlooked one. He's been spending an awful lot of time with Oleanwell Productions lately because of our new feature film. But the time he's not spending with the production is spent with who? Not you, but _Max_. Max, his son, your ex-boyfriend? That's got to weigh a lot on you. Must be hard to be… _ignored_ like that."

Britta glares at him a moment before saying, "Let's keep looking for evidence, okay?"

"Be my guest," He gestures towards the rows of library books and the two separate to search for the will. He's wandering somewhere between the encyclopedias and the atlases when he finds a large and very old version of Webster's dictionary. For some reason, he's drawn to this book and when he plucks it out, four other books topple down and out of line. Jeff replaces them all; the last one has a worn piece of construction paper sticking out. When Jeff tugs on the paper, he realizes he's found the last will and testament of Ross Oleander. It's shoddily made and the heading had definitely been created using WordArt, but Jeff lets it go.

He finds Britta in the nonfiction section and holds up the will. "Look what I found. It appears someone's not getting as much as she thought."

Britta hurries over and scans the will, noting that Max would receive the highest amount of money and property and Leo, the butler, would receive the lowest. She is in between. But she doesn't comment on this; instead she gasps and says, "Do you know what this means?"

"Yeah," Jeff nods. "It's further motive for you to kill him. He didn't leave you enough money."

"No, Jeff, look at the list of names." Britta points them out. "Max, Vanessa, Nicholas, and Leo. Don't you see it?"

"Yes, we both benefit," Jeff says and again, Britta shakes her head.

"No!" She's growing frustrated. "Margaret, his ex-wife, Olivia, his step-daughter, and Patrick, his cameraman, aren't on here! They're not on the will; Ross didn't leave them anything."

"What does that mean? Does that make them innocent, because they wouldn't gain anything from his death?" Jeff implores. "Or does it give them more of a motive to kill him out of revenge?"

"Whatever it does, it's important," Britta claims. "We're going to need it."

She pockets this too as Jeff tries to put the things together. "Okay. Someone had a roll of blanks in their jacket pocket, which means they used a prop gun to kill Ross. They must have seen the will, known they weren't getting anything from his death, and wrote him that angry letter. Or, they saw the will, found out just how _much_ they were getting and couldn't wait to get their greedy hands on it…"

He trails off and Britta shoots him a look. "You're on this again? I swear to you, I'm innocent."

As they step into the hallway once more, Annie and Shirley are just walking by, the latter asking, "Did you find anything useful?"

"Yes, actually," Britta presents the two with the will and the angry, crumpled letter. "Someone found out how much they were getting- or that they weren't getting _anything_- and decided to do off with Ross."

"So you're still claiming that 'someone' isn't you?" Shirley eyes her and Britta rolls her eyes.

"Obviously!"

"Guys," Annie shifts uncomfortably. "It has to be Max, right? I mean, Ross left him the shares of his company, his estate, and almost five million dollars. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on that?"

"What?!" Jeff exclaims, snatching the will away from her. "I don't get full control over the company?! That idiot! I'm glad he's dead or I'd _kill_ him!"

The three girls stare wide-eyed at him until he balks and says, "Well, _metaphorically_, I mean. I'm not saying… I didn't do it, okay?"

"That remains to be seen," Britta eyes him and Shirley nods her agreement.

"Well we're going to check the Spanish room," Shirley announces, seizing Annie's wrist and continuing down the hallway. "We'll let you know if we see anything."

"Same here," Jeff calls. "We're checking the History classroom."

"We are?" Britta asks as they turn and head down the opposite hallway.

"Doesn't it make sense? History? Crime and murder?" Jeff says and they're midway to classroom when they've found their next clue. Resting beneath the water fountain, they find a pair of latex gloves. Jeff smirks. "Clever. No prints on the murder weapon, this way."

But Britta's noticed something else. She's bent low over the floor, swiping a finger across the threshold of the History classroom. When she brings it closer, she gasps and says, "Gunpowder."

"I think we've found our weapon," Jeff grins and the two enter the classroom. "Now where is it?"

Britta's mindlessly searching through the drawers of their professor's desk as Jeff heads over to the bookshelf. He's there only a moment before there's a clatter and the gun falls out onto the floor. "Well, well, well… Look what we've got here."

"We've got a gun," Britta says and then kneels before the doorway, over the final clue. "And we've got a suspect. Check this out."

Jeff carefully lifts the gun and joins her, glancing at the object on the floor and questioning its relevance. "A broken clip?"

"Not just any broken clip," Britta shakes her head. "It's a broken butterfly hairclip, one that would have fallen out of the suspect's hair as she tried frantically to hide the murder weapon and go back to the party as if nothing was wrong. But in her panic and hurry to get out of the door, she must've stepped on it by accident. This butterfly hairclip is the final piece of the puzzle… But who was wearing it?"

They both pause a moment to review their friends' costume choices; it clearly isn't any of the men, since none of them would want much less need a butterfly hairclip. They think of Shirley first; she's wearing a sparkling black cocktail dress, a faux fur shawl, and had been carrying a matching sequined purse. On her head rests an old fashioned hat, a fishnet veil covering one half of her radiant face. No, not Shirley, so Margaret's out. Britta, the voluptuous girlfriend of Ross Oleander, is wearing a red dress, likely the same one she'd worn to the Valentine's Day dance years earlier, but her hair is curled around her shoulders and clip-free. Not Britta, either. And Annie, too, is wearing a cocktail dress, with strappy heels and a beaded purse. And in her hair had been…

"Olivia," Jeff says after a beat. "It's Annie. She's the culprit."

But as he looks around, he realizes Britta's no longer in the room with him. He can hear a faint clacking in the hallway and takes this to mean she's sprinting towards the cafeteria, intent on revealing the culprit. Jeff growls and shouts after her, "No! You're not going to win!"

He can hear her laugh from whatever hallway she's taken, but it doesn't take long for him to catch up to her. She glances over her shoulder and stops a moment to push a trash can in his path, sprinting faster towards the cafeteria. Jeff rolls his eyes, navigates around the trash can and takes a detour. When Britta realizes Jeff's no longer following her, she slows a bit, catching her breath and steadying herself on her high heels. She's _this close_ to the cafeteria, now, and she can hear the rest of the group in conversation, as if waiting for her to burst in with the reveal.

She starts toward the door, but Jeff appears from the other end of the hallway, catching her off guard and she jumps in surprise. He reaches her, grabs hold of her arm, and tugs her backward, putting himself in the lead. Britta does not take this lightly; when she catches up, she shoves him sideways, regaining the lead once more. But she doesn't stay there for long. The moment he's recovered from her shove, he reaches around her torso and lifts her into the air, placing her behind him and sprinting forward as she struggles to recover. All this fighting is completely useless; they end up making it to the cafeteria at the same time, anyway.

"I know who did it!" Britta screams, fighting to make her knowledge more significant than Jeff's, who is shouting beside her, "I found the culprit! I know who murdered Ross!"

"I told you I would win!" Britta turns towards Jeff, continuing their previous argument. "You had zero faith in me and I beat you!"

"You didn't win! I got here first!" Jeff argues back. "_I_ beat _you_!"

"We got here at the same time, jackass," Britta replies. "But I _definitely_ figured out it was Annie before you did! So suck it!"

"_You_ suck it! I knew it was Annie! I knew the whole time!"

"Bullshit! You thought it was me!"

"Guys!" Annie shouts and the two abandon their tirade, whirling around to find Annie and the rest of the party- Dean Pelton included- staring wide-eyed at them. "Abed figured out it was me like a half hour ago."

"Yeah," Abed deadpans. "We already had the big reveal but we didn't know where to find you. We can go through it again, if you want."

Jeff and Britta are silent, unable to process the fact that they had just come to physical contact to get the answer here first… and it didn't even matter. In the end, Abed had won, Abed had been victorious. They stare at the group in shock, confusion, and frustration as Dean Pelton serves pumpkin-shaped cookies and witch's brew, as "Thriller" booms through the speakers, as the party resumes around them. Troy has dragged both Annie and Shirley onto the dance floor and the three reenact Michael Jackson's infamous routine, Abed grinning from the sidelines and Pierce and Dean Pelton trading anecdotes from past parties. Jeff and Britta share a look of understanding and leave the cafeteria.

They stop outside the library and take a seat on the concrete steps, Britta shivering in the cool breeze but insisting she's fine, Jeff rolling his eyes and draping his suit jacket over her shoulders anyway. They're still pretty much in suspended shock; they had gotten _so intense_ over that silly little game, the murder mystery both of them claimed was for children under the age of fifteen, and for what? For no reason at all, because at the end of the night, not only had they both lost, it was exactly that- just a game. Jeff chuckles and once he's started, he can't stop. Britta glances over at him, amused.

"What?" She wonders, a smile gracing her features. "What's so funny?"

"Murder mystery parties. This stupid fucking school. Halloween, in general," Jeff answers. "Why would we get so competitive about it? It's just… It's just fucking _hilarious_, Britta."

"I guess," Britta replies. "It beats last Halloween, that's for sure."

"I'd have to agree," Jeff nods. "As entertaining as all those stories were, I'd rather be solving Dean Pelton's murder."

Britta grins. "That's sinister."

"It's Halloween," Jeff shrugs. "I'm allowed to be sinister."

"Whatever you say."

"So you want to go back in?" Jeff asks, nodding towards the library. "I'm sure you want to show off those 'Thriller' moves, right MJ?"

Britta rolls her eyes. "I think Troy's got that covered, thanks."

"Yeah, but you looked better as Michael than he did," Jeff says. "No one even remembers when MJ was black."

"Well that's reassuring," Britta smirks sarcastically. "I look better dressed as a guy than an actual _guy_ looks dressed as a guy?"

Jeff shakes his head, saying, "I didn't really follow that, but I'm going to say yes anyway."

Britta laughs. "Whatever. It's late; I'm going to go home."

"It's not even midnight," Jeff announces, glancing at his watch. "You're not going to be _that_ lame, are you?"

"Hey, it's not lame. Maybe I have trick-or-treaters waiting," Britta says. "Maybe _Scream_ is on TV, who knows?"

"And you'd rather do that than hang out with me?" Jeff asks. "Come on; we could go for drinks, crash a costume party… It could be great."

Britta considers it for a moment. She's not sure what makes her say it, but she finds herself asking, "I don't know. What would Annie think?"

She regrets it almost instantly and Jeff looks irritated by her remark. But he covers it well, asking a question of his own. "I don't know. What would Troy?"

She darkens as he jumps up, turning back and extending his hand towards her. His eyes seem hopeful; _are you coming or not?_ But when he speaks again, it's not a question, it's a statement. "Come on."

Britta grabs his hand. Even as they walk to his car, he doesn't let go.


End file.
